


Two and Three Part Inventions

by Fallen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternatue Universe-College/University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen/pseuds/Fallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He picked it up from his mom, even when she died he kept playing. Only problem was that if he wanted to get anywhere, Beacon Hills wasn't the place to be. That's why he was here, on the other side of the country, where apparently no one knew what personal space was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two and Three Part Inventions

His mother was the one that got him started, to be honest, when she died he wanted to quit and he almost did. His dad was the one that managed to keep him going, telling him how much she loved playing and how much she wanted him to love it just as much. So, yeah, he kept going, practiced everyday when he had the time, even that one time he got the flu, which in hindsight might not have been one of his brightest moments. And trust him when says that it took a hell amount of effort to keep going, sure there was the issue of his inability to focus, but that actually wasn’t much of a problem at all. If anything he was going to blame his tutor. As much as he loathed the idea, his mom was his only teacher and despite the argument that he made that he could learn on his own and be the next Yo-Yo Ma, his father insisted and that was how Ms. Pike found her way into his life.  
  
The fact that she was against anything with sodium in it made Stiles certain that she was a demon in disguise. On the bright side, he managed to make it nearly nine years before he had no choice but to dump a bucket of water that he got from the church (don’t ask) onto her. Long story short, Ms. Pike may have not been a demon, but the holy water did its job, she quit that day. The grounding was worth it.  
  
After that, his dad let him learn on his own, no longer willing to shuck out the money for a teacher if Stiles was going to assault them. He was perfectly fine with that, he didn’t like an authority figure…well okay he had his dad which was the highest authority in Beacon, but that totally didn’t count, cause that was his dad and because of reasons. Though, he did have to hand it to the old bat, she was a great teacher if you looked past the moth ball smell and the crusty thing she had growing in the corner of her mouth. Cause hey, anyone who could teach him to play _Flight of the Bumblebee_ from memory was okay in his book, pending they weren’t a supernatural being.  
  
Course there was a problem if you happened to play cello and lived in Beacon Hills, that being there was absolutely no where to practice performing in front of an audience. Cause apparently, this was a good skill to have, go figure. There was a small time orchestra in the city next to them, but somehow Stiles didn’t see himself making the two hour trip every few days, have you seen gas prices? He wasn’t crazy. For his entire schooling career, his only listener had been his dad and that wasn’t too often. Being the sheriff meant odd hours, but Stiles understood that. There was Scott sometimes too, but that was only the one time, when Stiles had first started. Apparently, Scott was holding onto the belief that Stiles hadn’t improved since his own rendition of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’. Other than that, no one else knew about his own little talent and Stiles was perfectly fine keeping it that way.  
  
Though, that could have been part of the reason why it came as such a large surprise when it came time for college applications. Lydia, red haired goddess of his dreams turned rather close friend red haired goddess of his dreams voiced her surprise loudly. Could be because she always thought that he would follow her to MIT and as tempting as that was, he had somewhere else in mind.    
  
When he was younger, his mother told him about how her dream was to attend Julliard, but she never got the chance to apply. And once senior year rolled around, Stiles figured, hey, what’s the harm? Even if he didn’t make the cut, there was other places, he could attend his mother’s alum, Berkeley or if he was really lucky, he could apply to Berklee (it took him longer than he would like to admit convincing Scott that he was talking about two separate schools).  
  
He didn’t have much hope getting in anyways, the acceptance rate of applicants was less than ten percent and that percentage typically went to people who had advance training, which Stiles had none of.  What was the harm in trying though, right?  
  
Okay, so there was actually a lot of harm. The entire process was _brutal._ He was certain by the time he was done with every movement, every concerto, the Bach, the Lutoslawski, the lyrical pieces, more movements, the sonatas, some Chopin (cause who doesn’t love some Chopin), all played from memory mind you, that there had to be some blood on his cello. He wasn’t sure that happening was even possible before. By some miracle, Stiles did manage to make it past the audio audition to the live one in New York, he took their silence by the time he was done as a good thing.  
  
All the travel, all the practice, the nights he forgo sleeping cause his dad wasn’t home so he could practice a few hours more, it all paid off didn’t it?  
  
Cause, here he was.  
  
It wasn’t all great though, he didn’t have any of his friends here. Scott decided to go the local community college while still working for Deaton so that he could save up enough money to transfer to the same college as Allison, who happened to decide to go to Berkeley. Lydia was accepted into her dream school and Stiles would bet money that the only reason that Jackson was accepted into MIT was because he threatened to beat the Dean with his lacrosse stick if he wasn’t. The closest to him was Danny, who decided on Cornell, which was a bit surprising to be honest.  
  
The city was great, the people were rude, the streets smelled, coffee stands everywhere, and he met a hobo the other day that looked like Robert Downy Jr., it wasn’t all that bad. Classes weren’t either, but they left him with little 'Stiles' time.  
  
And there was the fact that every first year student was required to take a Piano Class if they weren’t keyboard majors.  
  
Seriously. What the hell.  
  
He already had one instrument that he needed to focus on, why were they giving him another? He wasn’t that great of a multitasker. Personally, he loved how the course was descried as ‘strengthening of piano techniques’, that meant that he should come in with some technique already. Sure, he wasn’t all that bad but, for the sake of being disgruntled, Stiles was going to be disgruntled.  
  
In a few days, he had an oral test to see how well he was progressing and though he hated to do so, Stiles needed to practice, lucky for him there was more than a fair share of pianos lying about the school.  
  
He had been practicing for over an hour before he decided to take a break and his form of a break was to play _Chopsticks_. Figured that would be the moment that he would no longer be alone.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Woah dude, was that a growl? Did someone just seriously growl at him? Stiles turned around on the bench, his attention on the guy standing in the dimly lit doorway, glaring? Yup, glaring at Stiles.  
  
“Playing, you know the thing that usually happens when you put your fingers on the keyboard and start moving them, it makes music, I hear they’re big on that here.” Stiles drawled. Perhaps that was a poor choice of words seeing as how it urged the other guy to step further into the room.  
  
Welp.  
  
Personally, Stiles always leaned more towards those with strawberry blonde hair, but there was definitely a chance that…he really needed to close his mouth. For a second, Stiles wondered if he should be the one asking why the other guy was here, the leather jacket and dark clothing didn’t really scream ‘artistically student’. Then again, neither did plaid, so he was better off keeping that opinion to himself.  
  
The guy continued making his way forward until he towered over Stiles, which was completely unfair and uncalled for, “What are you doing here?” he repeated.  
  
Stiles turned around completely, not really able to stand seeing as how this guy decided to invade his personal bubble, “Oh my God, I’m practicing!” he waved his arms to emphasize his point, “What does it look like I’m doing? I have a test coming up, alright?”  
  
The dude quirked an eyebrow, “You’re a student…here?” What was with the tone of disbelief? Wow man, rude.  
  
“Yes, I’m a student here.” Stiles snapped. The Greek God wannabe snorted (again, rude), glancing between the piano and Stiles, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.  
  
“And I’m guessing piano isn’t your instrument.”  
  
  
“Golly, how did you ever figure that one out?” Stiles retorted, with more than a healthy dose of sarcasm. And the glare was back, wonderful. “No, it’s not, I play Cello, you can stop the thing you have going with your eyebrows now.”  
  
That seemed to catch him off guard, “What thing?”  
  
Stiles pointed helpfully at his forehead, “ _That_ thing.” Let no one say that Stiles Stilinski was not a great helper. Didn’t seem the matter, seeing as how the glaring continued.  
  
“What’s your name?”  
  
“I was told not to give my name to stran-okay! Stop with the glaring! Stiles, alright? It’s Stiles.” he answered, leaning back in his seat, his back brushing against the keyboard causing the clash of notes to play making Stiles jump in place, nearly toppling over. To his credit, he managed to stop himself from flushing with embarrassment, “Well?” he pressed.  
  
“Well what?” the other guy responded, long past the point of popping Stiles’ bubble.  
  
“Normally it’s common courtesy to tell someone your name when they just told you theirs.” he explained, “And I deserve to know so I can file harassment.”  
  
Stiles didn’t think that the guy was going to give up his name, his jaw was firmly set and Stiles really wanted to look away from the grayish green eyes that were staring him down, but that’d mean losing and he couldn’t do that. “Derek.” the gruff response came, for a moment Stiles wasn’t sure if he had actually answered or decided to growl at him.  
  
“Well,” he began glancing towards the clock above the doorway, “It was nice meeting you, Derek…sort of.” he scooted down the bench so he would be able to stand, “See you around” he used Derek’s arm to pull himself up. Derek looked repeatedly between his arm and Stiles’ hand until the latter held up his hand, “I’m taking my hand off.” he laughed weakly then walked towards the exit, still facing Derek, “See you around, I guess.”  
  
To his credit, Stiles managed to make it out the classroom before going into a dead run.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have problems. I like to pretend I know stuff about music. I'm thinking that if I continue this AU, Derek should be a flautist, cause the idea makes me laugh. I desperately wanted to post this on my tumblr, buuuuut yeaaaaah, no. 
> 
> Sorta beta'd...sorta...but poorly.


End file.
